


The Vessel of the Divines

by Astoneve (dennydearest)



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Abuse, Also fluff, Angst, F/M, Magic, Other, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 00:16:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11024571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dennydearest/pseuds/Astoneve
Summary: She was a quiet child, marked by the Gods themselves.





	The Vessel of the Divines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think I can help,” she gently cut through the ragged fabric of his tunic to expose the wound and cringed. “It isn’t so bad...”
> 
> “Tell me the truth,” the Bosmer raised an eyebrow
> 
> Elisiane huffed out a laugh. “It might need stitches and a few weeks to heal.”

 

High Rock was beautiful at sunrise, all pink and azure hues in brushstrokes of cloud wisps across the sky. The dewy carpet of plush grass glimmered in the new light as the sun peeked over the tip of a mountain.

They met in a meadow, under dawn’s first light. A wandering hunter and a wedded herbalist, drawn together by Divine destiny.  Mother of three, Elisiane Geval had spent her morning gathering lavender blooms, sweatroot, and elderberries. Her basket was filled to the brim with herbs, ready to be dried and prepared into tinctures or potions. She dawdled on her way back to her family’s small cottage, wishing for the freedom which she had before her marriage.

As a young woman, Elisiane had been known for her escapades among both men and mer. Her devotion, however, had been stolen away by a handsome farmer by the name of Frinn. Her husband was a simple man, intelligent and kind, whose strong hands were truly gentle when he was by her side. She loved him, she did, but she longed for the wistful days of her youth, when her honor was not tied by a simple ring. At times, she wished to leave, but her children...

Little Adina was hardly a year old, while Jeanrekill and Sybayl; named for her parents; had turned five only weeks back. Despite her want for a carefree life, she could never leave them. They were such beautiful children.

And no one could make love like Frinn could. 

Blushing at the thought, Elisiane chuckled into her hand and shook her head wearily. Sh brushed a strand of auburn hair out of her eyes and sighed. In the distance, she spied a white willow tree, bent over a trickling river. No doubt there would be a few  good harvests of lover’s lichen near the water’s edge as well. As she approached, she could make out the line of a figure resting against the tree. 

Cautiously, she drew the small silver dagger which Frinn had given her as an engagement gift. It was more of an ornamental thing, thin bladed and engraved with a blessing of Mara. Its hilt was studded with gems that Frinn had spent his life’s savings on. The dagger fit the palm of her hand perfectly and she had become quite adept at making small incisions, but still, it wasn’t much of a weapon. As she crept forward, she heard the figure mutter just loud enough for her to hear. 

“It’s no use sneaking, miss...” It was the voice of a wood elf, who clearly was in a great deal of pain. “I’ve already seen you. Not to worry...I’m no threat to anyone in this condition.”

Elisiane lowered the blade, curious. “In what condition?” As she rounded the Bosmer, she gasped. The front of his tunic had been torn open by the tusks of some large beast, goring his skin and breaking his breastbone. “Gods, what happened to you?”

As she knelt in front of him, he chuckled ruefully. “Trying to bring down a boar...seems he brought me down instead.”

“I think I can help,” she gently cut through the ragged fabric of his tunic to expose the wound and cringed. “It isn’t so bad...” 

“Tell me the truth,” the Bosmer raised an eyebrow 

Elisiane huffed out a laugh. “It might need stitches and a few weeks to heal.”

He groaned. “I doubt the inn would let me stick around for free without supplying their meat and Rotmeth,” he flashed her a dazzling smile. “Though I have a feeling a few ladies might pay good coin for me to keep their beds warm at night.”

The Breton woman giggled. “No need for such drastic measures. I’m sure my husband wouldn’t fault you for staying with us until you’ve recovered.” 

“Oh?” The Bosmer smiled, jerkily kissing her hand. “Thank you, my lady. You can call me Sylacas.” 

“Elisiane,” she murmured, heart aflutter at the contact. It felt as if a spark had ignited between the pair - Sylacas had clearly felt it as well and quickly drew his hand away. “Elisiane Geval. My house is just a few leagues to the South, in Jehanna.”

“Thank you,” the Bosmer pushed himself upright with a hiss of pain. “Elisiane.”

 

* * *

 

It had been nearly a week since the Gevals opened their home to the wounded elf and it was clear that he had become part of the family already. The twins, Jeanrekill and Sybayl adored him and his stories, Frinn found him to be good company and enjoyable to share a punt with, and of course Elisiane, well...for her it was even more pleasant. 

Each morning, she would wake Sylacas at dawn with a warm poultice and tankard of mead. Each morning, he would smile through his pain and joke about how she spoiled him. Each morning, when Frinn had gone to market, they would fall into each other’s arms, filled with passion and lust, ignoring Sylacas’ wounds in favour of pleasure. 

Elisiane used to think that no one could love like her husband, but meeting the young Bosmer had changed everything. Truly, she loved Frinn, but with Sylacas, everything seemed to fall into place. They moved as one, perfectly in tune with each other. 

They knew it couldn’t last forever. 

They thought it was love, but they knew...

“Elisiane?” the young Bosmer had his arms around her as they lay together under the same tree where they had met. “I have to go now.”

She looked up at him, her voice breaking. “I know.”

“We’ll always have this,” he murmured, stroking her hair softly.  “We’ll always have our tree and our meadow.”

“Please, don’t forget me,” Elisiane held his hand to her lips. “I won’t forget you.”

Sylacas smiled sadly. “I think it may be best if you did.”  


End file.
